


Lace Choker

by compo67



Series: Chicago Verse [16]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Sam, Breathplay, Choking, Coming Untouched, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Genderfuck, Lace, M/M, POV Sam Winchester, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut, Top Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-16
Updated: 2014-05-16
Packaged: 2018-01-25 00:25:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1622360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/compo67/pseuds/compo67
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a night when neither of them can sleep, Dean tries something new.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lace Choker

**Author's Note:**

> uhh... if you're looking for plot, it ain't here. this is nothing but porn, y'all. yummy, delicious porn set in the Chicago Verse. 
> 
> i love this Sam because he's obviously got some genderfuck going on and Dean has sensed it and he's going with it. i also want to assure y'all that Dean knows what he's doing with the breathplay stuff. XD just in case you had any doubts. 
> 
> written for M because she's awesome and enables my 2am desire to write porn. thank you bby. <3
> 
> phew!

It starts because Dean wants it to.

Late at night, when it’s more humid in May than it has any right to be, Dean sneaks into Sam’s room and thinks that he’s quiet about it. Sam will let him think that.

Sam will also let Dean think he woke him up, when in reality, Sam couldn’t sleep either.

Wordless, Dean noses the back of Sam’s neck, sniffing and taking deep, calm inhales of breath. This is what home smells like. This is what home feels like. Stiff hands—humidity is shit on arthritis—flex until they’re smoothing out the wrinkles in Sam’s sheets. No covers tonight; just sheets. Still, Dean asks for permission in the only way he knows how: without words. Sam sighs and moves his hips in the direction of Dean’s hands. Yes. Please.

For a few minutes, the bed creaks under the weight of them. Things are louder in the summer. The house starts to wake up and the floorboards get noisier. Despite the knee, Dean straddles Sam and shoves both their boxers down until the heads of their cocks rub together. Sam admires the thick, tan muscles in Dean’s arms. He gasps when Dean grinds down rough. They could come just like this.

But this isn’t what Dean wants, not completely, so Sam yields and opens his eyes all the way, going from half-lidded to full-Dean.

Their eyes meet. The air conditioning isn’t on yet. Too early. Needs to be at least June.

Sam can feel the hair on Dean’s thighs tickle against the hair on his.

Movement to the pillow next to Sam is made. Dean reaches and an elegant curve of muscle is made that Sam touches briefly. So there is something else, something more. It isn’t obvious until Dean slips it on him. It’s light and thin but _there_. It flutters over the exposed line of Sam’s throat and closes with a gentle tie of silk ribbons.

It’s a lace choker.

The color doesn’t matter. It is simplistic and soft and after a minute of admiration it is tightened. Not overly so but just enough so that Sam’s skin presses up through its pattern in just the right way.

A kiss that starts out sweet turns rabid. Dean is all teeth and spit. His hands cup Sam’s ass as they continue to rock together. This doesn’t last long. Sam can’t separate the noises he’s making from the ones Dean’s producing. It’s the humidity. He doesn’t even realize it at first, that Dean has slipped in two fingers and is working in a third. It doesn’t sink in right away that lube has been applied and his body has opened up instinctively, greedily, sucking in and clenching around the fingers that spend eight hours a day examining the carriages of cars.

The underside of Sam’s cock is outlined with the swipe of Dean’s tongue. No, come back, Sam wants to plead, that mouth should be up here. It should be everywhere all at once.

Four fingers hurts. They make Sam’s eyes water from the sopping shell inside him. Humidity makes the lube feel thicker, more natural, like he produced it himself instead of it spilling from a bottle. How he’d like that; to make it just for Dean. To be ready and open by just the thought of what could happen. To glisten there and gape open and have it all at once instead of little by little.

Three kisses are given as a reward. Dean latches onto Sam’s tongue and blows it loudly, sucking and slurping like it was Sam’s cock, or maybe, his clit, wiggling and elusive, tender and pliable. Somehow, Dean understands. He doesn’t touch Sam’s cock any more than that one moment long since passed. All he does is take his cock and slap the tip of it against Sam’s hole, after he withdraws his fingers. Warning. It’s a warning that this will soon be here. Soon can’t happen fast enough. Sam doesn’t wait; he spreads his own legs open and moans. Please. Oh, please.

Pl—yes. Shit.

Held open by firm hands, the opening stretches. It gives way for the fat head and the bloated length that follows it. It seals itself hungrily against the base and refuses to budge. It is familiar with the heavy bounce of Dean’s balls against it and the twitching that occurs when Sam draws in a deep breath and amplifies everything. More lube. Messy. It sticks to the smaller hairs on both of them. There is such a thing as too much slick but they’ve never met that precipice with each other. Dean pounds in, twisting and tilting his hips, creating circles and ripples. Sam holds onto the headboard, his legs and feet raised up; he braces himself and pushes out, then clenches. Work for it, Dean.

Work for it.

Folded together, their mouths meet after two tries. Dean is mounted securely. He grinds instead of thrusts and it causes a slow buzz in the small of Sam’s back. This in itself… this could be enough.

Back to the choker.

The pads of Dean’s fingertips touch it gently at first. They search for the two pressure points Dean has known for decades. Old friends. Open up, Sam. Open up. His hips throttle Sam’s. Fucked into the bed, Sam lets go of himself. He concentrates on the feeling of Dean’s cock swelling inside him; he locks onto the fingers on his neck pushing down against lace.

So fuckin pretty.

Sam’s eyes roll back. Fingers are hands now. His breath catches and Dean swallows it whole, devours it right out of his mouth and keeps it—one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine… ten.

The headboard is banging against the wall. The nightstand is moving. Dean’s cock is at an angle so good it causes the muscles in Sam’s thighs to spasm.

One, two, three, four—tighter this time—five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten—longer now—eleven, twelve, thirteen…

Off. Sam gasps and coughs and there’s darkness pressing near his eyes. A little too far. Dean runs his hands through Sam’s hair and kisses his forehead. Apologies are like permission—wordless but sincere. The choker is licked. It is kissed and tongued and blown on. Dean drives his hips forward.

It’s the humidity that causes time to slow. Everything seems deeper. Everything is felt harder.

Their mouths meet again. Dean catches Sam’s tongue after a brief wrestle. Together now. He moves his hips, his cock shoving into Sam with wet squelches, and he circles his tongue against the tip of Sam’s tongue, flicking it back and forth, curling figure eights on the nub of it. He holds himself up with one hand and with the other, his fingers splay across lace.

Down.

One, two, three, four…

Sam counts backwards.

Ten, nine, eight, seven…

Harder.

Fingers apply more pressure. Dean’s lips are plump against Sam’s tongue. His tongue slips against the right spot over Sam’s.

Five. They meet in the middle.

Sam comes all over them both. He doesn’t make as much noise but he thrashes under the weight of his brother, under the smell of him, under the feel of his muscles working.

Dean comes inside him, loud and uninhibited. He comes in screams and roars and with a toss of his head. He comes as loud as thunderstorms in July.

Come and lube spill out of Sam and onto the sheets. The humidity makes it all thicker. Dean reaches down and pushes two fingers in alongside his softening cock. Sam sighs and tries to steady his breathing.

It’s the humidity.

Heat lightning flashes outside his window.

Summer is early this year.

“Shh,” Dean murmurs. He kisses Sam’s cheek. He will make sure Sam’s heart stops racing.

 

It started because they both wanted it to.

It never ended because neither of them wanted it to.

It won’t end because they don’t want it to.


End file.
